Mistakes
by princessozmaofoz
Summary: "She'd made several seemingly small mistakes, each of which had inevitably led her to make the coup de grâce of mistakes." Companion to The Confessional:Ch 6 and 10 . Warning for non-graphic, adulterous encounter. JI/JH. COMPLETE


Note: This is a companion piece to Chapter Six of _The Confessional_ (one of my other stories). For those of you unfamiliar with the other story, that particular instalment involved a one-night stand between a certain "dishy" sergeant and his married superior. This story will chronicle the same event from the opposite viewpoint. If this offends you, read no further.

Disclaimer: I don't own _Lewis._

Mistakes

Detective Chief Superintendent Jean Innocent of the Oxfordshire Police considered herself a practical person, first-and-foremost. A practical person _and _a rule-follower in all aspects of life. It had always been this way. She'd proven herself time and time again to be Jean the clever, Jean the responsible, Jean the prudent.

Or so she'd once thought.

There had been nothing clever or responsible or prudent about what she'd done last night. For the first time in a long time (perhaps _ever_), Jean Innocent had done something reckless, something so _incredibly_ reckless—in fact— that she'd simultaneously betrayed the two most important aspects of her life: her marriage and her career. Last night, she'd made several seemingly small mistakes, each of which had inevitably led her to make the _coup de grâce _of mistakes_._

After Sgt Hathaway had left the station last evening, Innocent had realized that she'd forgotten to give him some important papers earlier in the day. If she'd merely waited until the following morning to give him the papers, she wouldn't be in this predicament. If she'd merely waited, she'd still be "Sensible Jean."

But she hadn't waited. She'd driven the several miles to James's flat in the pouring rain. Then, she'd followed Hathaway inside when he'd invited her to dry off for a minute. She'd taken the drink he offered her. She'd listened to him talk about his troubles and had confessed her own. She'd had another drink and another. And then, she had _really_ lost her mind. She'd shared James Hathaway's loneliness and then—heaven help her—she'd shared his bed. She'd woken up beside him this morning, aware that she'd just made the greatest mistake of her life.

Or _had _she?

There had been another mistake, now that Jean really thought about it. A mistake that she'd made a long time ago. A mistake that last night had prompted her to seek comfort in Hathaway's arms.

Roger Innocent was the most exciting man that Jean had ever known. Charismatic, handsome, and wealthy, he'd seemed at first to have come straight from one of the fantasy novels that Jean and Ginny had devoured in college.

Mr Innocent's wild streak had been obvious from the very beginning. They'd first met when Jean had pulled him over for driving more than double the speed limit. He hadn't complained at all when she told him that she'd have to give him a citation. In fact, he'd thanked her.

" I'll go to traffic court a happy man," he had said as he winked flirtatiously, "knowing that there are police officers as dedicated—and as pretty—as you keeping the streets of England safe."

Jean had been convinced that she'd seen the last of the irritating Roger Innocent—and his ridiculous last name, but she'd been wrong. As fate would have it, a mutual friend set them up on a blind date a few days later. And this time, sparks had flown.

Roger had first proposed two months after they'd started dating. Jean had refused, of course; they'd barely known each other at the time. Four months later, he'd tried again, and this time, she'd accepted. By then, she had fallen desperately in love with this dashing, unpredictable man and had convinced herself that she could domesticate him.

For several years, they'd been totally, blissfully happy, but all that had changed six months ago. Roger's secretary had resigned so that she'd have more time to spend with her grandchildren. Jean had expected her husband to hire someone similar to his former secretary—someone efficient, someone down-to-earth and motherly, someone who would make sure that Mr Innocent would remain true to his name and to his wife. Jean Innocent hadn't counted on Amy Prescott.

Twenty-six-year-old Amy Prescott with her short skirts and her long, shapely legs. Amy Prescott who pretended to forget Jean's name whenever they saw each other at Roger's office parties. Amy Prescott who never answered the telephone while she was at work, because she had "better things to do." _And _other women's husbands to do them with.

Roger had started coming home late shortly after he'd hired Amy. Jean would wait up for him every night, secretly hoping that —for once—he'd be pleased to see her. She would greet him with a kiss whenever he arrived, but he always pulled away. And when he would then suggest that they go to bed, sleep was always the only thing on his mind.

It hadn't helped that she needed him now more than she'd ever needed him before. Lately, the stress of her career had really started to weigh down upon her, and she had needed comfort desperately. And as Roger was in Edinburgh with his precious Amy for the week, Jean had been forced to take consolation where she could find it.

The faint scent of cigarettes lingered in her hair and on her skin even now, reminding her of last night's mistake. Jean wasn't a smoker; neither was Roger. But James Hathaway was.

She remembered how it had all started. How she and James had sat together on the couch. How they'd bared their souls to each other. How she'd seen the same loneliness in James's eyes that she'd felt in her own heart. How Hathaway told her that she was beautiful and brilliant and that she deserved better than Mr Innocent. How James had traced her tear-stained face with his hand before lightly pressing his mouth to hers.

His lips had been gentle at first, but they'd gradually grown more urgent. To her surprise, she'd found herself returning Hathaway's kiss, even when he'd pushed her onto her back.

He'd eventually broken off the kiss and they'd both sat up. Jean had reached for her wine glass, trying very hard to ignore the warmth in her cheeks and the rapid beating of her heart. She had taken a sip and then had placed the glass back on the side table. She waited for James to admit that what he'd done was wrong in both personal and professional senses, but the apology didn't come. Hathaway had turned to her a moment later, his eyes wider and darker than she'd ever seen them, and she had suddenly become aware that he didn't regret his actions in the slightest. It was then that Jean had realized exactly where James wanted the kiss to lead—and that she would let it lead there. She'd instantly known that she'd willingly give James Hathaway anything and everything he desired, so long as he kissed her and held her and made her forget all about Roger Innocent.

For a time, she had forgotten Roger. For the next few hours, Jean had thought only of the strong arms holding her, of the light brush of warm lips against her bare skin, of the fact that someone wanted her now in a way that she hadn't been wanted in a long time. Hathaway's lovemaking was tender— far gentler than Roger's untamed ferocity but no less passionate. It was a little ironic; though James had treated Jean like a lady, he had nonetheless made a whore of her.

It wasn't until she had woken up this morning and had seen her discarded clothing on the floor beside James's bed that Jean had fully comprehended what she'd done. She'd instantly recalled that she was Hathaway's boss, that this sort of behaviour was strictly against policy, that other officers of her rank had been sacked for much less, that she could have and _should_ have stopped this from happening.

She had immediately grabbed her clothes, changed back into them, and fled the house. She didn't wake James before leaving, as she couldn't bear to face him in the full knowledge of their actions. She would have enough trouble when they met up at the station later in the day. After all, she hadn't just surrendered her body last night; she'd surrendered her authority.

How on earth could she continue to lecture Hathaway on proper behaviour when her own behaviour was the farthest thing from proper?

James had made a hypocrite of her last night. No, that wasn't exactly right. She'd made _herself _the hypocrite. She'd proven once and for all that she was really no more 'innocent' than her husband.

In the early days of their marriage, Mr Innocent had grown possessive if his wife had so much as looked at another man. Now, Jean was completely unsure of how her husband would react if she were to tell him what she'd done.

Would Roger Innocent be jealous if he knew exactly where and how his wife had let James Hathaway touch her? Would Mr Innocent care at all that Jean's body had physically responded to her colleague's body the same way it always responded to her husband's? Would Roger abandon Amy forever if he knew that James had made Jean feel more loved in one night than her own husband had in six months?

The chief superintendent returned to her own house and walked into her bathroom. She removed her clothes and studied her reflection in the mirror. She still appeared physically to be "Jean the honourable," " Jean the _innocent."_It was only on the inside that she was "Jean the corrupt."

Jean walked over to her bathtub and turned on the shower. She waited until the water was warm before stepping inside. She rubbed soap all over her body to wash away the distinctive scent of last night's mistake. If only she could wash away the mistake itself!

_The End._


End file.
